Drabbles Drabbles Drabbles
by HughloverX
Summary: Silly short stories I make in Math class.
1. One Righteous Dame

So, here's a bunch of Drabbles that I write during Math class because I hate my teacher. Usually I give them to my friend to read over and now she asked me to actually post them. They're RENT related and most of them have references to other things like Anthony Rapp's cd. Hope you like them. Please review all of them.

I don't own RENT. It belongs to the genius Jonathan Larson.

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This one is about Mark and basic and normal embarrassment. Pre-RENT. Maureen/Mark. Also, there are a few lyrics from "Human Tornado" by Anthony Rapp.

* * *

Roger was howling with laughter, as Mark turned from albino pale to redder and redder. It got to the point where Roger was holding his aching sides and let his precious guitar crash to the floor unknown while Mark sank into the couch hiding his big red face with a groan. Why had he said what he had said?

"Say it again!" Roger yelled still laughing.

"Shut up Rog! It was just an idea!" Mark yelled back.

Soon, Maureen came into the loft after a nice long shopping splurge for tight leather pants in a variety of colors and other things to show off her body at clubs, not to mention some other things to quench her kinky tastes in the bedroom that would make Mark blush a beet red color. Upon entering she waited for attention, but notices that neither of the Boho Boys was giving her it. Clearing her throat and striking a pose she smiled. Roger looked up and broke into more hysterics.

"Roger! Shut up! Hi Maureen…" Mark grumbled hoping she'd save him from his humiliation.

"Hey Pookie. I got some things for us. Let's try them out," she said still on her shopping high.

"M-Mark…heehee…maybe she'll unclog your drain!" Roger piped in with a laugh.

"ROGER!"

"She'll twist up your kites!" Roger sang with tears streaming down his face.

"What the hell is he talking about?" Maureen asked angrily. "Did you two do something stupid that I have to fix or something?"

"No…ha! We were writing and…hahaha. I swear we made a song about you. But he-ha! He-" Roger started just was cut off by a bout of laughter.

"Pookie? Sing it for me?" she asked cutely. Now she was curious. A song all about her?

"No…you'll laugh and so will-shut up Roger!" Mark yelled throwing an old newspaper at him.

Maureen smiled. Now she _had_ to know what this was all about. Sliding next to Mark she let her hands go to his belt and his corduroys. He squirmed knowing what she was trying to do and that he would lose.

"Just one line Pookie?"

"The last line! Sing the last line Albino-boy!" Roger howled.

"She'll forget your name-she's a human tornado. She'll win at your game-she's a human tornado…" he sung softly and mumbled the last line while trying to get away from this embarrassment.

"What's that last line baby?" she asked undoing his belt to get him to say it.

"Go on Mark! It's the best line!" Roger yelled with glee.

His embarrassment was mounting along with his horniness. There was no choice in this matter. He couldn't hide or run. Shouldn't he just get it over with and hope for a rush to the bedroom? She had promised not to laugh.

"She's one righteous dame!" he yelled praying he wouldn't get too much grief. Of course, that didn't happen. Maureen and Roger both started laughing. Deciding it best, Mark grumbled an excuse to leave because he "needed to film". When he got his camera and got on his jacket and scarf and turned back to the hyenas on the couch. Rolling his eyes at the two he left wishing he had worked on his song about Roger rather than about Maureen. Maureen was a human tornado to him but Roger wasn't just some guy to him. That might be a good idea for a song. "Just Some Guy"? Or maybe…he just shouldn't share songs with them and stick to filming.


	2. Pigeons

Here's yet another story I made up while in math class. Can you tell I work hard on that subject? Anyways, thank you Christine (there I said your name…your actual name) for adding that little smidgen and your thought on it.

Again, don't own Rent but can Anthony Rapp be mine? Love from me if you find the lyrics from a song by A. Rapp.

* * *

"Close on the lonely pigeon looking for food and shelter," a young Mark Cohen narrated from the park bench he sat on as he filmed. What was he doing here?

He had left his nice comfortable home in Scarsdale where his mom would always be ready to make him an almond butter and fruit-sweetened jam sandwich for this…New York City, center of the universe. Now that he was here, ready to fulfill his dream to be a filmmaker, he realized he didn't have anywhere to stay and he had no food and he was freezing. Was he supposed to sleep in the street? What if he got mugged or something like his mother warned him about?

Now pacing in the park he began to panic. Maybe he shouldn't have left. Looking at his camera he began to fiddle with it trying to keep his mind off his impending doom.

"Umf! Hey! Watch where ya're goin'!" said a man with spiked bleach blonde hair. Oh God…was he going to get mugged by some junkie with no sense of grammar?

"I-I'm sorry. You see I was looking at my camera and I don't have any money so don't and-"

"It's cool buddy," said the blonde man as he chuckled. What was he laughing at?

Mark looked at him confused. The other man rolled his eyes and looked about to say something else, but before he did he was tackled by two women. New York was a crazy place…

"April! Maureen! Get off!" the man growled while pushing them off. Was he their pimp or something?

"Who's the cute albino-kid?" the hooker (or so he assumed by her dress) with the brunette curly hair and tight leather pants asked causing Mark to blush.

"I don't know. He ran inta me," said the blonde as he kissed the other girl with short red hair.

"You okay baby? Roger! You stupid fucking big lug. Probably hurt the poor guy," said the brunette as she went over close to fix his scarf.

"I'm okay. Really," he said taking a step back. He hadn't the money to give this girl so why get worked up?

"What's your name?" the redhead asked hanging on the blonde man.

"Mark. I'm Mark," he introduced himself hoping to be spared any more humiliation. Was it right that he used his actual first name?

"Roger. Roger Davis," the blonde man introduced himself. "This is April my girlfriend and that slut is Maureen."

"Hey! Not my fault I'm irresistible," the hooker named Maureen said with a grin. "Can't believe you called me that. Can you Pookie? I'm a good enough girl," she said flirtatiously to Mark and about to hang off of him causing him to blush even more. "Where you staying Pookie?"

"Uh…I-I don't know. I just got here from Scarsdale," he explained kicking himself after for saying where he lived.

"Rich boy huh? Well, we need another roomie to make the rent right Roger?" the other women said.

"Yea! But you aren't some crazy murderer or something are you Mark?" Roger asked jokingly.

"Uh…no…I'm a vegetarian so…" Mark said hopeful to have a place to stay if only for the night.

"What are you doing here in New York?" April asked.

"I'm uh...trying to be a filmmaker," he answered showing them his old camera.

"Oh? I'm in a band and stuff…Maureen's here because she's a drama queen and April's always been here," Roger told him with a grin. So…he wasn't a pimp and they weren't hookers?

"What do you film Marky? Wanna film me?" Maureen asked. Perhaps she was a hooker, but Mark couldn't help but enjoy what she was doing.

"Or do you film running into people?" Roger asked with a smirk.

"Oh no. Mostly anything. My scripts are pretty shitty so far," he said with a shrug. These people weren't too bad. Perhaps, they could even be his friends. Rather excited by this notion Mark added quickly, "I wish you met me earlier when I was outside feeding the pigeons and they were flying around and it was really pretty outside."

Roger, April and Maureen looked at him oddly wondering what he was talking about and began laughing. He'd fit in just fine with them. Still, they lead the way to their loft apartment. Mark turned around to continue with his story and noticed they were leaving.

"Where did my friends go? Oh!" he said finding them in the crowd and hurrying up to catch up with them.

Now he had a place to go and some friends to help him out in the tough big city. Who knows what would occur in the future because of this chance meeting? Or how great of an effect each person he met right then? One day he would look back on this time and film of the pigeons flying around and the blonde "pimp" with his two "hookers" who weren't really hookers and he wasn't really a pimp and think why it happened and what he was to do. He'd wonder how did he get in the predicament he was in and blame last Christmas of '89, but when he looked upon the film he would know that was the beginning. Things were always changing and flying around him with unknown destinations, like pigeons flying around outside in the park of New York.


	3. How Mark Got Beaten Up

So…here's another drabble. Hope you like. It's a comedy about Mark getting beaten up…Review please!

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Mark Cohen, the Bohemian filmmaker, was doing what his job title implies, making a film. He was getting raw footage in the park of the homeless sleeping, the leaves, and the people walking around. Looking through the eyepiece he saw all these things. Zooming in on some of the graffiti on a wall the screen was filled by a colorful mass. Surprised by this Mark jumped back looking for whatever had messed up his shot.

"Oh…just a butterfly," he said calming down and gently trying to shoo the bug away.

Even though Mark was swatting gently, so as not to hurt the fluttering thing, the butterfly wouldn't leave. It kept getting in his shot making him a bit frustrated. Giving up Mark turned to get another shot. He could come back later to get the shot.

The butterfly had other plans.

Mark began filming a man sitting on a bench begging for change of people. This would be perfect for his documentary on-why was that butterfly in the way again?

"Okay butterfly, you have to move," he told it while trying to knock it away.

However, the butterfly attacked back. The butterfly whizzed down towards his big head causing him to yell and duck spastically. Covering his head and eyes he swung around blindly at the colorful blur. While waving around he knocked his own glasses off causing temporary blindness. Then he simply flailed his limbs about like a spaz.

Suddenly he felt someone grab him and he stopped his spasms to see who it was. Was the demon bug from hell gone? Who had saved him? Getting his glasses back he looked at his savior, Maureen Johnson.

"What the hell were you doing Markydoodle? Looks like you tried dancing or something again," she observed laughing at him.

"Oh…erm…I was getting attacked," he said blushing.

"By what? A bee? Did I save you from being stung and therefore killed by a beesting?" she asked over dramatizing the whole thing.

"Umm…not really. It…it was a…butterfly," he admitted turning a brighter shade of red.

He would never live this down. Mark Cohen, beaten by a butterfly.


	4. The Kite

So, I got bored and decided to make a kid fic of our favorite bohemians. Also, I added in the song "The Kite" from "You're a Good Man Charlie Brown". Here you go. Read and review please.

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The 5-year-old Mark Cohen raced as fast as his short legs could take him to catch up with his best friends, 7-year-old Roger Davis and 6-year-old Maureen Johnson. However, due to his kite, which refused to go in the air hampering his ability to run, he ended up tripping his way over to them.

"Mo'ween! Woger!" Mark yelped as he tripped over the strings on his kite and fell to the grassy ground.

"You okay Mark?" Roger asked handing the kite he and Maureen made to Maureen so she could fly it for a while and he could check on his friend.

"Ow…yea…stupid kite," he mumbled.

"You'll get better at it Marky," Maureen called as she made her kite swoop around. "Practice makes perfect."

With a sigh Mark tried again. The kite ended up going into a tree this time. With a groan he sat down and pouted. Maureen came over and climbed the tree to get it down. After a few words of advice and a hug she told him to try it again.

"_Little more speed, little more rope,  
Little more wind, little more hope,  
Gotta get this stupid kite to fly.  
Gotta make sure it doesn't snag  
Doesn't droop, doesn't drag  
Gotta watch out for ev'ry little- whoops!_" Mark thought seeing the kite nose-dive into the ground. Looking over at the other two he saw Roger give him the thumbs up and motioning for him to try again.

"_Little less speed, little more tack,  
Little less rise, little more slack,  
Gotta keep my wits about me now.  
Gotta make sure it doesn't get the best of me  
Till I get it in the air somehow._" Mark thought as he tried again.

Sniffling he tried not to let the failing kite see him cry. It wasn't fair. It looked so easy. He had made it just the same way Roger told him to, but it didn't seem to like to listen to him. He began to get frustrated with this as most 5-year-olds would too.

"_Millions of little kids do it ev'ry day  
They make a kite and-"poof"- it's in the sky.  
Leave it to me to have the one fool kite  
Who likes to see a little kid cry._" He thought wiping his now runny nose and fixing his glasses. He'd try one more time.

"_Little less talk, little more skill,  
Little less luck, little more will,  
Gotta face this fella eye to eye_" he thought running with the string held tight in his hands. The kite went up momentarily and then came down with a _crash_! Tossing it away he sat.

"_Now that I've seen you chasing moles,  
Climbing trees, digging holes,  
Catching your string on everything passing by  
Why not fly?_" he yelled at the kite. Roger and Maureen went over to comfort the poor boy.

"C'mon Mark! One more try okay? One more and if it doesn't work we can do something else okay?" Roger tried pulling him up again.

"No! It won't fly Woger! It won't!" he told the other boy and pouted some more.

Maureen smiled at him. He was adorable when he did that. Going over she hugged him close and kissed his cheek causing him to blush.

"Please Pookie? For me?" she asked sweetly.

Mark couldn't say "no" to her. With a sigh he took off at a run pulling on the string and hearing Roger and Maureen's cheers. Feeling like nothing was happening he looked back.

"_Wait a minute,  
What's it doing?  
It isn't on the ground.  
It isn't in a tree.  
It's in the air!  
Look at that.  
It's caught the breeze now,  
It's past the trees now  
With room to spare..._" he called to his friends pointing at his kite. His wonderful kite that finally decided it would fly for him. It swooped over the trees and around the puffy clouds swimming in the light blue sky. It was everything Mark had been hoping for.

"_Oh-  
What a beautiful sight.  
And I'm not such a clumsy guy.  
If I really try  
I can really  
Fly a ki-_" he cut himself off as he saw the kite change it's mind and go head-first into the closest kite-eating-tree and get lost in the leaves. Groaning to complete his sentence he threw the string away.

It was then; Mark gave up all hopes of going into aviation as a job. Perhaps filming, his second dream job, would work out better than flying anything.


End file.
